Author's note: I remember saying in a "to write" list I made to write a lemon with a particularly moving scene from a movie in mind. This is not that lemon. This is just a shot at trying to make a lemon work on its own in my hands. I won't try to make this a conscious stab at avoiding the PWP storyline, nor will try to crash into that general direction. Don't expect any banging all of a sudden or coming too quickly; that's not my style. I'm just trying to write a story here. But there will definitely be lots of... something. Delicious. Bon Apetit.
They had been locked in a room together by their friends, just the two of them, and they had no idea why.
He had been too shy to say how lovely her breasts and her hair were, and she had to keep quiet about the gurgling in her belly and the sweat in her mouth when she sat next to him. They had both (pensively and timidly) said they provided each other with interesting talk and enough affection to last them into each other's bed sheets, but that was that was that. After all, Mandaluyong was quite a long way off from New Manila, and books outweighed cheap relationships. She preferred to serve tea with two cubes of sugar, while he liked his beef and potatoes. And still. It...
This
had been going on for quite a long time (everyone had been sick of all the pansiness and wishy-washiness of the two, hence the locking-up), and hostage-takings in the group's parties were not uncommon for their ilk. But not her, and oh, not him. Such an inopportune time and such an inopportune pair. The lights died on the two of them. Power failure in the whole of Malate, owing to some Jackass up the road.
She knew he had a white undershirt beneath his unbuttoned polo just before everything had turned to black. And the scent of him. He thought the translucent pink blouse on her was... She was wearing that... lily scent again, and her black bra peeking through was... delectable. He had nothing on (he was not particular to any fragrance), on her part, and the smell of him was quivering in her sides and was seeping into the small of her back. The lights had gone out on the two of them.
It seemed funny, though, them rooted to their spots instead of sitting themselves down, or trying for small talk to fill the silence. After all, the room was locked, and they didn't have much choice except to wait at the mercy of their friends. Small talk didn't seem to fit, oh no, not when the silence and the scent of each other screamed ... what? Oh no, not something else. But yes. Yes, something else.
Moving closer seemed like the right thing to do for the both of them, and nuzzling assured the other he and she weren't alone. Not with the scent of them acting this way. Her cheeks felt white, soft, and oh god, she smelled of her girlhood. He had a strong brow (her lips told her that), his hair needed washing (his musk had somehow intrigued her), And. His scent. His. Scent. His. Scent.
